Survivor's Syndrome
by LadyNightRunner
Summary: Of the three men who went into Nibleheim, Cloud is the only one left. Of the two who ran from Nibleheim, he is the only one alive. Alone, he mourns, and is comforted by his nearest and dearest. Too bad they can't stay with him.


A short, unhappy fic written after a long, lonely, depressing day. Read, Review, and vote, folks! And, if you want even more angsty goodness with the added bonus of blood and violence, go over to my other new fic, Never go Back.

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Zack comes to him when he cries. Always when he cries, or when he's so overcome that it's as good as crying. Never when he's happy. Never when he's just lonely. Still, though his presence never means anything good, Cloud welcomes Zack every time, because Zack is from the past. The past where everything was laid out for him, and he was told what to do, how to do it, and there was never any trouble unless he really screwed up. The past where he could laugh with friends, laugh and not wonder why he was laughing when he'd lost friends. Not only had he lost them, but they were lost because of his failure. He couldn't save them. Zack was shot, Aerith skewered, both because of him. Or that was how he saw it, anyway. Zack saw it differently.

It's raining outside, hard, a stereotypical setting to be seeing ghosts in. The kind of night when it's not safe to go into attics, basements, or strange houses without a group of friends that must not split up, and not even then if you or they are teenagers. Cloud isn't a teenager, and he is alone, up in the attic where Tifa can't find him. If she does, she'll try and comfort him, try and speak to him, and he'll only cry harder. She'll cry too, because she doesn't know what to do.

Cloud is sitting between a couple of wooden boxes that once held strong liquors from Costa del Sol. Now he doesn't know what they contain, but the space between them is just the right size to curl in, like lying between two big, indifferent bodies. It's almost comforting, the way they don't move and don't try to help him.

This time, it was just chance that reduced him to a sobbing wreck. A freak bit of weather. And it just plain did him in, more effective than any weapon. On his way back from a delivery, he stopped to see Zack, as he always did, and to gaze out over the city. There was a bit of rust setting in on the grave marker, so he polished it off. A good SOLDIER never lets his weapon rust. The tiny tuft of grass and flowers he'd planted at the foot of the sword was doing well. A storm was coming; it was windy, with heavy clouds scudding across the sky, as unpredictable as the movements of wild chocobo. As he stood there, watching, enough clouds cleared out of the same place all at once, and a feeble column of sunlight brightened the center of the city. It was so like the most memorable times he'd been up here, at Zack's death and right before the Jenova accident, when there had been light in the most unexpected places and he'd been too blind to see it until later, when it could no longer do him any good. He could see it now, when it did nothing but make a pretty picture. Then, a small part of him thought that Zack would have loved this view. The burning started in his chest then, the precursor to tears. Not out here, with the storm coming. He'd mounted Fenrir and hurried home.

Huddled in his pathetic sanctuary, Cloud shakes with sobs, the kind that aren't pretty, or neat, or suitable for public viewing. They are messy, noisy, and really need a shoulder. Memories and regrets aren't a good enough reason for this. Not to him.

"Hey, buddy."

Zack has a voice just on the deep side of average tenor, packed with more friendliness and light then Cloud will ever know what to do with. Even two tiny words are enough to make the memory of the light hurt even more. Cloud hiccups convulsively, catches his breath, and dissolves once again.

"One of those days, huh?"

He perches on one of the crates, resting one elbow on his knee and giving Cloud a once over. Cloud raises his head to meet the impossibly purple eyes, looking as real as they did when Zack was a First Class SOLDIER and Cloud's closest friend.

"Stress, or the past?"

The past, of course. Stress makes Cloud violently sick to his stomach, when it builds up enough. Zack has been there on a few of those occasions as well, when the stress was related to the past, making it all one nasty cycle of misery.

"Had something to do with me, didn't it?"

Cloud nods, slowly. Zack sighs, stands, and bends over Cloud, hooking his hands under Cloud's arms and hauling him to his feet. The movement is as effortless as it would have been in life; even without the strength given to him by the Life Stream, Zack is a terribly strong man. He plonks Cloud down on a crate, then drags the other close enough to form a rude bench wide enough for the both of them. Wordlessly, he holds one arm out. Cloud looks at him, eyes brimming, then scoots over and grabs him, clinging like some kind of teary blonde barnacle. Under his fingers, the leather and knit cotton of Zack's uniform feels so _real_.

"Were you out at the ridge?"

Zack never calls the sword-memorial his grave; it's only the ridge, the bare plateau where he fought and died for Cloud, and where his sword will remain as long as there is someone to keep it there.

"Just standing out there?"

Cloud shakes his head.

"Saw something and thought of me?"

He nods.

"It wasn't your fault, Cloud. Really."

"I let you die," Cloud whimpers, burying his face in Zack's shoulder. "And I let her die."

"You could hardly move when I died," Zack points out, stroking Cloud's hair roughly. "And as for Aerith…she kinda knew it was coming. Not how, but she knew it was gonna happen. She doesn't blame you."

"Who _does _she blame, then? Sephiroth?"

"No, not me either."

Cloud freezes, then turns to face the far window. Sephiroth is striding towards him, all silver hair and black leather, as impossibly tall as ever but very, _very_ dead.

"This is supposed to be my job," Zack pouts.

"I'm at the heart of most of his issues, aren't I? It's only right that I come and try to help."

Zack shrugs and scoots over, pulling Cloud with him, to make room for the former General. He sits, and the crates creak in protest. Like Cloud, they aren't accustomed to be handling two adult men, particularly ones as big as Sephiroth and Zack.

"Who, then?" Cloud sniffles, trying to hide the tears now that Sephiroth is here. Even now he is somewhat in awe of the man, and doesn't want to look weak in front of him.

"No one," Sephiroth says simply, dragging a glove off and rubbing the tear trails off Cloud's cheeks. "Jenova, if she has to pin blame on someone. I don't get into trouble for being possessed, you aren't in trouble for being unable to stop me, and she's perfectly happy to keep it that way."

"Yep. It'll be okay, Cloud. We're friends, remember?"

Hearing that brings up the vague memories of the flight from the labs, being carried or dragged by Zack, finally lying in the back of a pick-up. _'We're friends, right?' _Zack had said. Cloud dissolves into renewed tears, missing even those days when he was unable to move or speak, a burden and a hindrance to escape, but he was with Zack, and life was simple. Him and Zack. One goal, to get to Midgar. That was it.

"That was my fault, wasn't it?" Zack sighed.

"It was."

"Shit."

Sephiroth takes a leaf from Zack's book and pulls Cloud close to him. He is nowhere near as cuddly as Zack, but he is deceptively warm, his heart is beating against Cloud's ear, and he _feels_ human. Cloud relaxes slowly, breathing in the smell of worn leather. Leather has always calmed him.

"That's better. This close, Sephiroth's voice is a deep rumble in Cloud's ears, a vibration in his chest. Like thunder, something else he finds relaxing.

Zack slides closer, until he and Sephiroth have Cloud sandwiched between them, pressed together from knees to shoulders. Cloud looks and feels small between the two of them, but the body heat and the comforting beat of their hearts keeps him rooted to the spot.

Eventually, Cloud falls asleep. It's late, after all, and few things can tire you out quite as thoroughly as crying. Sephiroth and Zack keep him upright, chatting together in low voices. After awhile, Cloud's hiccupping breaths even out, and the storm outside roars into a quiet rainfall.

"Time to go," Zack murmurs, shifting Cloud so he won't fall off the crates.

"Really?"

"Mmhm. I only get to come out here when he needs me. He only needs me when he's upset…he'll be okay for awhile. Maybe longer, since you came."

"I wish it hadn't been like this."

"You and me both. But at least we can do this much, right? It could be worse."

"True."

They stand together, leaving Cloud asleep on the crates, and walk back towards the far window. They vanish before they reach it.

When Cloud wakes up, the crates are cold except for where he's touching them. He wasn't expecting more, though. Zack is never there when he calms down and pulls himself together. He is only there for him when Cloud needs him the most, and he does what no one else can: he understands. Now, perhaps, Cloud has two understanding shoulders to cry on. Two people can say more comforting words than he can deny, and, now that he is outnumbered, maybe he can begin to heal.


End file.
